A Flash Of Light
by Cemetery Mink
Summary: Hannibal has amnesia...........chapter 2 is here, so read it already! :)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All the characters mentioned herein belong to Thomas Harris, except for Carson and Smith.   
  
Timeline: After the ending of Hannibal the movie, although it ends quite differently. The doctor is captured, and en route to a holding cell, their squad car crashes and he has amnesia.   
  
Forgive any inconsistencies in the plot, if you find any; please alert me via e-mail so I can correct them immediately.  
  
  
A Flash Of Light  
  
How did I get here? What on earth have I been doing? Behold the sight that greets my bleary eyes: there are four of us in the car. Who the other three are, I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that my body hurts and I cannot move my legs. Briefly I wonder if my spine is broken. My companions don't seem to be faring any better. The two men in the front seat are slumped over; blood is trickling out of the driver's ear. The steering wheel was crushed into his chest. I believe he is quite dead. A tree branch has broken the front windshield, impaling the other to his seat. It has even gone through his body, stopping a scant inch from my own chest. Moving to the left, I see bits of blood and bone smearing the jagged tip.   
  
I check on the girl beside me. Pressing two of my fingers into her neck, I search for a pulse. It is there. Faint, but steady. I think this one is going to live. Only then do I realize that the two men in the front are dressed in police uniforms and that my wrists are handcuffed together. What was going on?! She starts to stir, moaning a bit. There is a gash on her forehead, at the edge of her hairline. Blood oozes out the wound, but it does little to lessen her unusual beauty. Her hair is red, but not exactly. More like a coppery brown. I don't know if this was real or if it was because of the blood. She opens brilliant blue eyes, staring at me with a mixture of shock, disorientation, and something else. Was it fear?   
  
'Do you know what you look like to me with your good bag and your cheap shoes……a well-scrubbed hustling rube……tell me his name, doctor!'  
  
Doctor? Where did that come from?  
  
  
  
  
Oh God. Oh my fucking God. I am in a car wreck with Hannibal Lecter. I close my eyes and curl myself into a tight little ball, pretending to still be unconscious and praying that he doesn't notice. After a few minutes, I realize that he isn't doing anything except sit there. I sneak a peek at him. He is also curled up on the seat, arms around his legs, rocking gently and humming something to himself. He looked so harmless and vulnerable. His face, although streaked with blood, bore an expression that was an odd combination of fear, confusion, and bewilderment. Seeing him like this unnerved me. I wondered if anyone had ever seen doctor Lecter afraid. I tried to say something.  
  
"Doctor," I started out cautiously. He jumped, looking startled.  
  
"Doctor? I am a doctor?" he looked at me, maroon eyes wondering.  
  
"Of course you are. Hannibal Lecter, are you alright?"  
  
"No, I most certainly am not, Clarice. Or should I say, Special Agent Starling? I have absolutely no idea who I am, how I got myself in this rather sticky predicament, or as to why my wrists are handcuffed. You say my name is Hannibal, yes? And that I am a doctor?"  
  
"Stop playing games doctor Lecter. You act as if you really don't know a thing, not even your name, but how do you know mine?"  
  
"It's on that charming identification tag you wear. You know, the one that says F…B…I…" Now why on earth did I say it like that, he wondered silently.  
  
Oh my God. He really does have amnesia. Wait a minute; maybe this is just a ploy to stall for time. Who am I kidding? Officers Carson and Smith are both dead, and he knows he's more than a match for me under any circumstances. Or at least the old Hannibal Lecter would. But this one… he was starting to speak again.  
  
"Well Clarice, I would love to stay and chat awhile but…"   
  
'I'm having an old friend for dinner,' I added silently.  
  
"Right now we have more pressing matters to attend to, such as getting ourselves out of this mess," he finished.   
  
"Alright," I nodded and tried to get up, but he stopped me.  
  
"As much as I would like to hasten our departure from this rather gruesome scene, I'm afraid I can't let you do that, my dear…" he paused, and my heart began to pump furiously. "…at least not until I have checked for broken bones and the like."  
  
I had to hand it to him. Even without his memory, doctor Lecter could still manage to scare the bajeesus out of me. He leaned over to push the jacket officer Carson lent me over my shoulders. The dress that doctor Lecter had given me was ruined now. I adjusted my position in order to give him better access. His breath stopped, just as it had in the dining room.  
  
  
  
  
She was beautiful. My hands actually trembled as I pushed the jacket over her shoulders, revealing creamy white skin. She was wearing a dress that left little to the imagination, and her breasts were almost exposed by the two scant bits of cloth that served as a bodice, if one could still call it that. Why does she seem terrified of me? She hides it rather well, though. Yet I cannot help but notice. Hmmmm. I must have some sort of sixth sense about these things. Odd. She says I am a doctor….what did she call me again? Hannibal…Lecter. That was it. My name then must be Dr. Hannibal Lecter. How very unusual.   
  
My hands seemed to have a life of their own as they gently pressed down on various areas of her torso, and ran down her arms and legs as I swiftly checked for any fractures. I must really be a doctor, then. The relative ease with which I performed this inspection astounded me, but I knew there was another reason for my haste. I knew that if I moved any slower, I would not be able to resist feeling for more than bones.  
  
"Well Clarice, you seem to be doing fine. No broken bones, sprains, or the like. So I am a doctor. Tell me, Clarice, what kind of a doctor was I?"   
  
I awaited an answer. For a moment, she looked bewildered, then she started to say very slowly…  
  
"Are you sure you don't remember anything? That you do not have any idea as to who you were or what you were?"   
  
What is this? Some kind of bloody game show?   
  
"Clarice, really. This is getting quite tedious. If I had even the faintest inkling as to who I was or what on earth I am doing here in this car wreck in the dead of the night with my wrists bound together, do you really think I would take this time to ask you questions, instead of trying to get us out of here? Particularly when the car is probably going to go over the edge of the precipice any moment now. Well? Do you?"   
  
I was getting angry now. For some reason, her irrational fear of me was grating on my nerves. Instinctively, she backed away.  
  
"I believe you." Her eyes told a different story.  
  
"Finally," I replied sarcastically.  
  
"You were a psychiatrist."  
  
"I was?"   
  
Surprising. But why do blood and body parts come to mind? A surgeon, then, too, perhaps?  
  
"Yes you were. You were quite famous. World renowned, matter of fact."   
  
Hmmmm, world-renowned. But how does a famous psychiatrist end up in chains, literally speaking.  
  
"I was a psychiatrist then. So you know what I find strange, though, Clarice?"   
  
There it was again. That fear in her eyes.  
  
"No doctor, I do not."   
  
There was a slight accent to her words. West Virginian? There were so many questions brimming in my mind. I was going to go mad if I did not find the answers soon.  
  
"Somehow I feel that you are not telling me everything. Quid pro quo. Tell me, and don't lie, or else I'll know." There I went again. There is something in me that was making me say things I didn't even know I was thinking. But somehow, I feel as if these sudden glitches in my train of speech contained part, if not all of my past.  
  
  
  
  
Just as I opened my mouth to speak, the car lurched forward, threatening to fall into the river below. Doctor Lecter shifted his weight over to my side of the car, trying to maintain whatever little balance he could. I grabbed a hold of his upper arm in an effort to steady myself. He was looking at me oh so intently with his unreadable maroon gaze. His eyes darkened as his muscles suddenly tensed, like a cat waiting to strike.  
  
"Clarice?" he was speaking again. "I want you to do something for me,"  
  
He was over me now, right knee pressed in between my thighs and his right hand poised to open the door. His other hand braced itself on my seat's headrest.  
  
"What is it, doctor?"  
  
His gaze had captured mine completely. I found myself wanting to sink into the deep pools of his eyes. Whoah, steady there, girl. Now is not the time for those thoughts, and he is definitely NOT the man for them.  
  
"At the count of three, I shall open the door." I nodded. "Now, what I want for you to do is to try and grab a hold of me, and we both jump out the car together. Is that understood?"  
  
"Perfectly, doctor."  
  
The confusion in his eyes had faded away and was now being replaced by confidence, a complete self-assurance that could only be found in those who believe themselves to never be wrong. Only fools believed such. Fools and madmen. And doctor Lecter certainly was no fool.  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
"Yes." This was it; one wrong move could bring the car crashing down into the river, sending us both to a watery grave.  
  
"One…" Oh God.   
  
"Two…" His hand tensed, fingers curling around the latch.   
  
"Three!" He opened the door and jumped out, taking me along with him. We rolled in the dirt for a few feet, before finally recovering. I looked up just in time to see the car fall. The last thing I saw before blacking out was and image of the doctor, leaning over me, saying: "Clarice, are you alright? Clarice?"  
  
  
  
  
She had fainted again. Though my head throbbed like the very devil, I took her in my arms, stood up, and carried her. It was a good thing the moon was full tonight. It helped light the path as I tried to make my way down to the river below. As I walked on, bits and pieces of conversations came back to me…   
  
'You can still hear them screaming, don't you…. You see a lot, doctor…. Quid pro quo….a census taker once tried to quantify me……fava beans…..Will Graham…..Jackie-boy…..do you think he imagines scenarios, exchanges, fucking you?….Love your suit…..how do you manage you rage?……there are shallow rollers, and there are deep rollers…….Barney…you had been courteous, and receptive to courtesy…I'd love to stay and chat…..'  
  
Shaking my head, I snapped out of it, the cacophony of disemboweled voices in my head drew to a stop just as I halted in my tracks. There, in front of me, was a cabin, seemingly deserted. No smoke came out the chimney and no light shone from inside. I tried knocking on the door.  
  
"Hello? Hello?" No response. I waited for a few more minutes before deciding to break in. setting Clarice carefully down on the grass, I backed away a few steps then rammed the door with my shoulder. It gave in quite easily.  
  
Bringing her inside, I discovered that the little cabin did indeed not have any occupants, and there seemed to be no electricity. Honestly, how did some people manage to survive under such primitive conditions?  
  
The medium sized table in the kitchen would do quite nicely as a surface on which I could lay Clarice down while I looked around for some candles. They were in the leftmost drawer, near the back door. I lit a few and placed them around at strategic locations. There was an oil lamp hung directly above the table that would do quite nicely. I lit the lamp and its warm light filled the room.  
  
There was a tin basin and some soft cloths in the middle drawer, and a well outside the window. There were no faucets. Bloody hell. Looks like I might actually have to go out and DRAW water from a well.   
  
On the way back in with a bucket of water, I noticed the large pile of firewood stacked up beside a chopping stump. I sighed. These people obviously did not even have a gas burner.  
  
With the fire going steadily, bringing the water to a boil, I turned my attention back to Clarice. My own body felt bruised and battered, but I wasn't willing to rest until I had looked after her. I took off her dress.   
  
Soaking a towel thoroughly with warm water, I managed to clean most of the blood from Clarice's face. Looking at it without all the blood and dirt, the wound was not as bad as it had appeared. Upon closer inspection, I decided it probably didn't even need any stitches, which was a good thing, as I did not see a needle or thread anywhere. The doctor in me was flowing quite freely now. I moved quickly, with precision and ease, examining her naked body with clinical accuracy, assessing the extent of her injuries.  
  
Satisfied that not much harm had come to her, I redressed her in a large white shirt I found in the upstairs bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. Drawing the covers over her prostrate form, I tucked her carefully, then gave in to an inexplicable urge to kiss her forehead. Sitting on the chair beside her bed, I found I was contented to watch her sleep.  
  
Who is this woman, Special Agent Starling, Clarice M.? And why does she make me feel so? Who do I believe she has some sort of control over me? Another flashback before I sank into slumber….   
  
"Not in a thousand years………"  
  
  
  
  
When I came to, I was in an unfamiliar room. Although my head pounded with each heartbeat , I felt surprisingly….clean. Without turning more than two inches in each direction, I could see most of the room as well as the still figure sleeping in the chair. Dr. Lecter.   
  
Once again that man had rescued me from harm when he could just as easily have left me to die and dressed my wounds. The bullet hole in my shoulder started to burn as I got up. I was wearing a large shirt. What is it with him and my clothes?   
  
The He in question was sleeping peacefully, in that dark and dreamless slumber of the exhausted. I reached out to touch his hair. It looked so soft, the firelight playing across its various shades of brown. Sleep had softened his handsome features, making him seem almost boyish, but there was a hard and cynical twist to his mouth, and lines of fatigue creased the corners of his eyes.   
  
He started to toss fitfully, assaulted by invisible demons. I tried to shake him awake. In a split second, I found myself on the bed, pinned under by his weight. Eyes, dark and ferocious, clouded over by a satanic rage. I squirmed under him. He seemed to snap back to reality, the black lightening to their usual enigmatic maroon. He stood up.  
  
"I apologize for that, Clarice. It seems I wasn't myself at the time."  
  
Oh yes you were, doctor. I nodded my head in acknowledgement.  
  
"Now that you are awake my dear, perhaps you would like something to eat?" he raised his hand towards the door. For the first time, I realized that I was hungry.  
  
"Sure thing, doctor." He arched a brow.   
  
We went down the stairs, and into the pantry. Large smoked hams were suspended from large hooks in the ceiling, and cheeses were on the shelf. He cut one of the hams loose with a kitchen knife, and took a large, circular cheese down. We ate in complete silence on the pantry floor.  
  
"So Clarice, where were we before we had to leave the car?"  
  
"Excuse me?" I didn't want to answer that.  
  
"Must we go through this every time?" He let out a sigh. "And another thing, why do you seem so frightened of me? Have I done something, or said anything previously for you to fear me so? Were we even acquainted before the accident?"   
  
He demanded an answer, and he wanted it now. So I gave the safest one I could think of. It was also the one closest to the truth.   
  
"I can't tell you that right now, doctor." His eyes began to darken once again. "But trust in me that I will tell you eventually." He nodded his head curtly, still looking displeased. My own was reeling over the array of emotions he had displayed in the past few hours. Just a day ago, he was Dr. Hannibal Lecter, killer-cannibal extraordinaire, now he was just…Hannibal. An almost normal man with an uncanny resemblance to the good doctor.  
  
"Clarice?"  
  
"Yes Doctor?"  
  
"You said I was a psychiatrist."  
  
"Um-hmmmm?"  
  
"Well, I…" he seemed hesitant. "Was I any good at it?"  
  
"Hannibal," I wanted to laugh. "Do you honestly believe that?"  
  
"No," he admitted. "I don't." Then he started to laugh really hard. I laughed along with him, and, for a moment, everything seemed all right with the world.  
  
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I'm thinking of ending the fic at this stage right now. What do you guys think? Should I bother writing down a conclusion, or should I leave things be? Please R/R. thanx. by the way, should you feel the urge to flame me, please do it via e-mail, okey-dokey? 


	2. Lust And Lunacy

disclaimer: lecter, starling, mapp, and crawford ain't mine, so there!  
this chapter's title is a song by Placebo. :)  
  
  
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these bonds are shackle free,  
wrapped in lust and lunacy....  
  
-placebo-  
  
The morning dawned cold and rusty, the sun making its way across a red sky. Several police cars were lined up along a portion of the interstate highway with a large part of its guard railing torn away. A great oak tree was missing some branches and its trunk bore marks that could only have been left by a car crash. Down by the river several officers of the law walked around, puzzling. A tow truck had its cable hooked to some unknown submerged object, and was slowly pulling it out of the murky water. A tall, regal man wearing a dark brown suit, stood with his arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face. Beside him an attractive African-American woman was barking out orders into her walkie-talkie. Her navy blue windbreaker had the letters F.B.I. emblazoned on the back. Ardelia Mapp, veteran of many crime scenes was not prepared for the sight that greeted her as the river finally yielded its quarry. She ran towards car, into the river, desperately seeking for some sign of Clarice. She was not rewarded.  
  
Jack Crawford let his head fall and his arms drop wearily to his sides. 'She's gone," he thought to himself. 'Dear God, I know it is wrong for me to ask of you so, but let her be dead instead of her being with that monster.'  
  
Other F.B.I. Agents had joined Mapp around the car as it was finally towed onto dry land. Swarming around the car like ants they yanked the doors open and searched futilely for any signs that the occupants had indeed survived. All they found were the badly mangled corpses of Officers Joshua Carson and Roland Smith. There was no sign of Clarice Starling or Hannibal Lecter, indeed no trace had been found of our couple to even indicate that they had lived or died.  
  
Ardelia Mapp took some comfort in this.   
  
"Well, that's it people. It's official. Nobody could've survived that crash." Jack Crawford declared. He refused to believe anything else.  
  
"But Mister Crawford, what about Clarice?! And Lecter?!" Ardelia could not believe her ears.  
  
"Nobody could have survived, Agent Mapp. Nobody." He said with finality. "Their bodies will turn up in time." Section Chief Jack Crawford made his way slowly up to the highway, where in the safety of his car, he would allow himself the tears he so desperately wished to shed.  
  
  
  
Several miles further upstream….   
  
He was sleeping again. It was his turn now, to lay on the large white bed upstairs. I tried to fix us some breakfast. I had changed into a pair of denims the master of the house kept in his closet, tightening the waist with some thick rope. I still wore the white shirt though. It clings loosely to my frame, and I was grateful for that fact, as I wore no brassiere under it. The bacon sizzled as I dropped it in the pan. A couple of minutes later, the eggs were added. As they cooked, I began to wonder how long it was before we were discovered.   
  
Right now, Jack and Ardelia must be going mad with worry. Surely they must have reached the accident site and fished the car out the river. I wonder what they must be thinking. Do they believe me to be dead, or that the doctor has taken me? In a way, the latter holds true, for Hannibal did spirit me away from the scene, but not for the reasons they think they know.  
  
A sound from the stairs distracts me. It is Hannibal. He has woken up from his nap and is coming down the stairs. Belatedly I realize he is still in handcuffs. Somehow though, he has taken his shirt off and he held it in his hands. I concentrate on what I am doing and try not to look at his body.   
  
"Good Morning, Clarice." He drapes the shirt around the back of one of the chairs and starts to set the table. How he does this with such fluid ease, I have no idea, especially in his current state of ahem, *bondage*. I try to sneak a peek at him out of the corner of my eye. Damn, he's out of my field of vision.  
  
"Good Morning, Doctor Lecter." I can't fucking stand it! I turn around to take in his half-naked form. This time, it is MY breath that catches in my throat. His body is well-built for a man his age. Hell, it was well built for a man of any age. No, he did not have six-pack abs, but from what I could see, his muscles were firm and finely toned. A light scattering of graying hair covered the upper part of his chest and his skin was tanned. Hmmm, looks like his time in Florence has done him good.  
  
"Are you alright, Clarice?" he cocked his head to one side, his expression concerned. Too late I realized I had been caught gawking. Blushing furiously, I turned back to the stove, where the eggs were just about overdone. In my haste I accidentally touch the hot metal of the pan, and let out a yelp of pain as it burns me. In a flash, Doctor Lecter is by my side, his cuffed hands on my wrists, trying to pull me away from the heat.  
  
"You really shouldn't be doing any work while you are in your present state, my dear."   
  
He leads me to one of the chair and sets me down. Mentally I flagellate myself for even thinking about him THAT way, and the next thing I notice is him wrapping a cool cloth around my hand.   
  
"That should help ease the swelling," he flashes a brief smile. His eyes are, as of this morning, as unreadable as ever. He presents me with his back as he turns to look after breakfast. By now, the eggs and bacon are hopelessly charred beyond all recognition, and his face expresses his distaste as he scoops up the remains and dumps them in the garbage.   
  
"You know, Hannibal, we really should get you out of those cuffs."  
  
"Oh really now, Clarice? I thought you might have enjoyed seeing me like this." He raises his hands to emphasize. "Perhaps you might have the key?" he adds helpfully as my gaze wanders away from his hands and travels all over his upper body. This time, I could not hide my embarrassment as well as the blush that spreads across my face. I run out of the kitchen, and out of the house.  
  
Starling, you have to get a grip on yourself, girl. The man is a murderer, and he's been declared insane to boot! Okay, so maybe he doesn't remember jack shit at all, but still, that doesn't change anything. Not a damn thing. And he is in there, in that house, in the kitchen, walking around without his fucking shirt. And got be damned girl, you are enjoying every moment of it. What would happen if say, Crawford and company showed up, guns a-blazing? And they will, you know. Would you let them pump bullets into that fine physique? Could you stand to do nothing?  
  
"Fuck it," I say out loud. I go back into the house and in the kitchen where doctor Lecter has finished making breakfast. He has even managed to rustle up some orange juice in addition to the ham, bacon, cheese, and eggs on the original menu. Right now, he was just sitting there, with his back to the door, waiting patiently for me to come in.  
  
"Ah Clarice, I see you are feeling…." He stopped in mid-sentence as I yanked him out of his chair and dragged him outside. Leading him towards a boulder, I lay his hands as well as the cuffs on it and began to pound on the links until they broke.  
  
"Get up," I say to him. He does so and we stare at each other for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't much taller than I, and we were so near each other, almost nose to nose that I was breathing the same air as him. He raised his brows as if to say, 'Well what now, Clarice?' I looked away, but he put his thumb and forefinger to my face and gently turned my head back. He bent his head. Make up you mind. His lips were almost touching mine. Decide. We brushed against each other. I could feel his desire pressed against my groin. Make your decision. His arms went around my waist, gripping tightly. In a flash, I knew exactly what I had to do. I pushed him away.  
  
As I started to walk back towards the house, I heard him exhale his frustration before grabbing a hold of my left wrist and jerking me back to slam against his chest. Then he kissed me. Hard. His lips were soft, yet firm and moved expertly across mine.  
  
  
  
It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Clarice. My Clarice was kissing me back with all the fire and passion of a woman in love. Love? MY Clarice? These thoughts were soon pushed away by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu that came over me. Has this happened before? I was so confused that I quickly broke the kiss.  
  
"Hannibal?" she was looking at me questioningly, beseechingly. Her face had the pinkish tinge that only desire, an intense desire could bring out. I had a feeling that her wants echoed mine. I pull her back and we begin to kiss again, clumsily stumbling back into the cabin, neither one of us willing to relinquish the feel of the other's lips.  
  
I fall over furniture and we crash to the floor. Clarice does not seem to notice, or perhaps she does not care. I suppose I should be concerned about the bruising, but for now, all I can hear is the sound of her breathing and her gentle moaning as they fill the air. We get up and make our way to the bedroom on the second floor.  
  
  
  
Once again I trip, and we end up sprawled on the stair like that scene from the Thomas Crown Affair. Hannibal is above me and I run my fingers through his short, thick hair as we continue to kiss madly. Insanely. He lets out a low growl as my nails scratch his back, drawing blood. He pulls away from me and puts his right arm under my legs, scooping me up into his arms as he goes into the bedroom. He deposits me into the bed and covers my body with his. I cease to think from this moment on.  
  
Afterwards, I lay panting on his chest. We were both trying to catch our breath and Hannibal was tied to the bed with the rope I had used to hold up my pants. He looked so surprised was I looped the rope through the cuffs and around the intricate designs of the headboard. I had sat astride him, feeling him grow harder by the second, and he was oh so deep inside of me. I rode him hard, savoring the feel of him and the expression on his face akin to pain as he came. We climaxed simultaneously.  
  
  
  
  
So here I am, with Clarice lying sprawled across my chest. My, what a……….What?!?!?  
Sprawled?!?! My wrists are tied to the damned bed, and she is naked across MY chest?! I note with plenty of surprise that I am nude as well. Then the memories came rushing back to me. First the dinner, then the way she kissed and cuffed me at the same time. The way she callously turned me over to the fucking F…B…I. Finally the car crash and everything that followed.  
  
"Clarice,"  
  
"Hmmm? What?" she was awake now, alert.  
  
"Untie me, please." She did so quickly. I rubbed my chafed wrists as I slid out of bed and put on my clothes.  
  
"Hannibal? Hannibal? What's wrong?" she looked worried.  
  
"So I'm Hannibal now, am I, Special Agent STARling?" I put on the shirt she had worn. God, even now the scent of her could still drive me mad. She grabbed my arm.  
  
"Take your hands off me!" I thundered. It's funny how I couldn't control my rage this time. Perhaps it was the humiliation of being rejected for who I was and embraced for who I wasn't.  
  
"I don't understand…." That was true. She didn't look like she did at all.  
  
"Maybe I should refresh your memory, Special Agent STARling. You turned me in. you kissed me, and then cuffed me. You rejected everything I had offered you. And once I lose my memory, albeit temporarily, you choose to FUCK me. Isn't it a bit too late for that, my dear?" She was starting to cry now. I put on my shoes and walk out the room. I pause by the doorway.   
  
"Ta ta, Clarice." She cries even harder. Her tears rip me apart. But right now, I was too enraged to even do anything. I'm sure she'll live through it. After all, she has the F…B…I.   
  
I was sure I would never see Special Agent Clarice M. Starling again.  
  
But that was five long years ago. Now I sit in my 1956 Jaguar roadster, watching her driveway. I have not heard of her since that fateful day she and I had spent in pure bliss. This is my first time back in the United States as I had fled to Switzerland immediately. Tapping my fingers in time to the beat of Scarlatti, I observe as her dark Mustang comes into view and cruises down the street, parking into her driveway. Ahhh, Clarice. What would be your reaction to seeing me after so long a time? Would you hate me, my love? I know I would.  
  
Her engine shudders to a stop and I watch as she gets out of the car. She is as beautiful as ever. I open my door and cross the street, hiding behind the shadows of an elm. Clarice reaches into her vehicle to pull out two bags of groceries. She sets these down on the hood before closing the door and going over to the other side. She opens the door to retrieve something from inside. More groceries, I assume. But I am wrong.  
  
Out of the car comes a little boy, no more than four years of age. He turns around and I feel an impending heart attack as I see his features more clearly. Beneath that unruly mop of blonde hair, he has Mischa's eyes. Clear as the sky above ocean waves. He stretches, cramped from the ride, reaching towards the heavens. He has six fingers on his left hand. I raise my own to my lips, tracing the scar that runs in between my index and remaining middle finger. Clarice reaches back into her car and hands out a little girl of about the same age. She and the boy must be twins. She looks like a perfectly formed little doll. She also has Clarice's red hair. Her eyes are shut tight as she lets out a yawn. When she opens them, they are of a clear, unblinking Maroon.   
  
"Nicholas," she says as she turns to her brother. "Race you to the door!" letting out a shout of laughter, she bolts. Her brother yells after her, "Alex, wait for me!" the sound of their laughter sends a sharp pain shooting through this fiendish heart of mine. Clarice shook her head, a soft smile on her face as she picks up the groceries and goes up the stairs of the duplex she shares with Agent Mapp.  
  
The children have left their bags behind. I go to them and on the flap of each, written in childish, yet surprisingly clean and legible copperplate, the names Nicholas Sebastien Starling and Alexandra James Starling. I close the bags and retreat to my car, where the tears are beginning to well up. I have not cried for a very long time. But as they begin to flow, I do not know whether they are because of joy or of grief.  
  
  
  
  
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well, that's all folks! pleases r/r. i know the ending is pretty abrupt and quite fucked, but hey, makes room for a sequel. :) what do you think?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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